


The Kite

by havisham



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Awkward Romance, Idril is Always Right, M/M, Pre-Gondolin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:16:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ecthelion and Glorfindel fly a kite together on the shores of Nevrast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kite

**Author's Note:**

> Written as Porn Battle fill for the prompt: Ecthelion/Glorfindel, ice, wind, fall, rain. It fails the porn objective by a wide margin. 
> 
> This is a repost -- the original's coding got boinked somehow.

the wind swept down from the hills surrounding Vinyamar and swept down to the sea. From his perch atop a boulder, Glorfindel could see a solitary figure on the beach below, flying a kite. Perhaps a kite was too simple a word to describe it, however. It was nothing like the paper-and-string contraptions that Glorfindel and his sisters made during their bright childhood, living in an estate squarely in between Tirion and Taniquetil.

This kite was large, large enough to carry up Idril, perhaps, or someone smaller than her.

It was too far for Glorfindel to make out if it was made of paper or cloth -- he was no great expert in such things, having always been more of a warrior than a craftsman -- and it seemed that the color of it shifted from white to silver with each gust of wind.

The flyer, too, was interesting.

Ecthelion’s dark head turned in Glorfindel’s direction, his mouth moving silently. No doubt, he was singing and Glorfindel fancied that he could still make out his words. There had been times, during the march across the The Helcaraxë, when the wind would bring the sounds of singing to Glorfindel, and even then, he could pick out Ecthelion’s voice from the rest.

Lightly, Glorfindel jumped off the boulder and fell more than climbed down to the beach. Ecthelion had his back to him but spoke as soon as Glorfindel could hear him.

“Interesting that you disdained the path, and choose the sheer drop. Did you fall?”

“No,” Glorfindel said, bending down to wipe away a streak of blood that welled up on his thigh. Ecthelion turned to him, his expression inscrutable. Another gust of wind blew his black hair into his face, and Glorfindel quelled an impulse to push it away. Instead, he looked up and said, “It’s a good day for it.”

Ecthelion did not bother to reply. Instead, he held out another string and Glorfindel took it. Though the string was light against his hands, the wind was strong enough to move him. Glorfindel choked back a cry of surprise when it seem that the kite would lift him off his feet. He did not know how in the world Ecthelion had managed to fly it by himself.

The hours seemed to melt away after that -- they ran into a spot of trouble when one of them wanted to go in one direction, and the other in another -- but eventually they fell into a rare form of synchronicity, the direction, the speed, their bodies moving as they should.

At last, his body aching and his mind satisfied, Glorfindel helped Ecthelion to bring the kite gently back to earth. The sun was about to set and the wind had dropped to a murmur against the roar of the surf.. They scrambled quickly up the rocks, escaping the rising tide and finally, came to rest by the boulder that Glorfindel had been sitting on, hours before.

Ecthelion pressed his face against the stone and closed his eyes, while Glorfindel leaned his back against it, and breathed in deeply.

“What is the song you used to sing, during the march?”

“Hmm?” Ecthelion stirred and looked at him cautiously.

“I remember it,” Glorfindel said, feeling oddly insistent. “I remember walking, and I heard you singing alone.”

“I cannot say that I sang anything alone,” Ecthelion said, “until --”

“Until?”

“My father and mother went through the ice. I remember that. He wrapped his arms around her and they went down with no noise at all. Everything was so silent, and I did not sing for a long time after that. And when I did --”

“The Moon had risen,” Glorfindel said, and so it had, large and full, flooding the beach and the rocks with silver light. It was a familiar sight, by now, but the first time it had been terrifying, thrilling. They had gone on so long without light, most were almost afraid of a new light in the sky. What if it was another punishment?

But some -- the king’s brother was one, and Ecthelion was another -- had rushed forth, they had seen the end of it. Ecthelion started to sing and Glorfindel began to run --

Glorfindel shook his head ruefully, but he saw Ecthelion nod. He felt a sudden rush of tender feeling for Ecthelion, looking sad and ruffled in the wind. Glorfindel gave in to his impulses and put an arm around Ecthelion’s shoulders.

Ecthelion stiffened, noticeably, and Glorfindel’s arm dropped to his side again.

There was an awkward silence that lasted for several minutes before Glorfindel broke it by clearing his throat. He said, “Did you make the kite?”

Ecthelion shook his head, as if to clear away lingering thoughts. “No, it was a gift from Idril. She said that I needed to lighten my steps a little, if I truly wished to be happy.”

“Ah,” Glorfindel said, with a soft laugh. “Finwëan jokes.”

Ecthelion gave him a sidelong look. “I thought it was rather odd, myself.”

“Idril must have known that her kite needed two to fly it properly,” Glorfindel said, taking a broken piece of string into his hands and twisting it to and fro.

“You know Idril,” Ecthelion said lightly. “Wheels within wheels, plans within plans.”

“Hm. She is almost frightening in that way. You begin to suspect that she was born in the wrong royal house.”

“How seditious of you,” Ecthelion said with a dark chuckle. “Are you saying that our chosen royals are too stupid to plan?”

“If I believed that,” Glorfindel said, wounded, “would I have followed Prince Turgon?”

Ecthelion gave a short laugh before turning away, following a path leading back to the city. Glorfindel followed him slowly, looking at the sky as it turned from bruised gold to purple to midnight blue. Walking steadily, they could be back behind the gates before midnight.

However.

Not looking at him, Ecthelion said, “There is a little cottage near here -- it is little more than a hut, really, but --”

“Yes,” Glorfindel said, eagerly, and then coughed to hide his embarrassment when Ecthelion turned to look at him. “I mean, it would be better to return to the city in the morning. When we are fresher. Do you have enough food?”

“I have nothing except what was in my pack,” Ecthelion said, patting leather satchel that hung by his side. It looked very empty to Glorfindel.

Rain, almost as light as mist, then began to fall.

Glorfindel sighed. “How lovely. Nothing to eat, a hut, and now, rain. I should holiday with you more often.”

“Only the best for the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower,” Ecthelion said, with all apparent seriousness.

*

The hut was not as terrible as Glorfindel had feared. The roof did not leak, there was a sizable pile of firewood outside the door, and after several minutes of rooting around in the pantry, Glorfindel returned to the now-roaring fire with a packet of waybread and a mysterious jar full of a brownish substance -- which turned out to be fish paste.

Paling at little after he had opened the jar and tasting its contents, Glorfindel passed it to Ecthelion without another word.

“Fish paste! Just like Amil always made,” Ecthelion said happily, using his fingers to spread it over his bread. “Try it, it’s not bad.”

“It smells vile,” Glorfindel said, trying not to breath through his mouth -- it was difficult.

“You stop smelling it after a while, here,” Ecthelion said, pushing a fingerful of the stuff in Glorfindel’s direction.

“No!” Glorfindel said sharply. “I’m all right with dry waybread.”

“You already smell of it,” Ecthelion said, inexorable.

It turned out that Ecthelion was right thrice-over. Glorfindel had stopped noticing the smell, especially when he already did smell of it, and yes, it wasn’t half-bad. But still, as they cleaned up after dinner, Glorfindel had already begun to plot his revenge.

It was simple, really. Ecthelion slept like a soldier, keeping neatly to his side of the bedroll. Glorfindel tended to sprawl, his arms akimbo. It was easy enough to wait until Ecthelion seemed to be asleep, and then, inch by inch, drape himself over Ecthelion, until he was nearly on top of him.

Ecthelion’s eyes were stubbornly closed, but Glorfindel knew better. “You smell of fish paste,” he whispered down to Ecthelion.

Ecthelion’s eyes cracked open and he took a deep breath. “So do you.”

“That’s your fault.”

“Pardon me, but how?”

“ _You_... Why do you afflict me so?”

“You’re the one crushing my lungs.”

Glorfindel kissed him first, just to show Ecthelion that he was serious, that he wasn’t to be trifled with… in retrospect, he wasn’t sure how Ecthelion was to know all of that.

Glorfindel did not have a chance to reconsider his position before Ecthelion sat up and looped his arms around Glorfindel’s waist. They were face to face and Glorfindel felt his cheeks heat up. He had known it was mistake to accept Ecthelion’s invitation to spend the day outside the city, had known that they would always -- come back to this state. Hopelessly entangled with each other.

And so they were. Hopelessly entangled and stinking of fish paste, Glorfindel kissed Ecthelion again. At least, he thought, the dark was a passing thing and soon there would be light again, and warmth.

Ecthelion hummed something in his ear and Glorfindel sighed, at last, ruefully happy.

At least there would always be songs.


End file.
